


Bloodstream

by quietregulus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, HP: EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, POC Harry Potter, Romance, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietregulus/pseuds/quietregulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Healer Draco Malfoy never thought he'd get so attached to a patient. That is, until Harry Potter was brought in unconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this because I'm so not ok with the whole "Harry Potter is totally fine after having to save the wizarding world year after year even when he was hated and doubted" thing.
> 
> I live in the U.S. so if you spot anything weird, you know why.
> 
> UPDATE: Because of plot difficulties I put this on pause for over two years. I wanna get on with it so I took away the extra subplot (I got too arrogant). I figure Draco and Harry's growing relationship is story enough.

Draco had been working for approximately fourteen hours when Potter was brought in.

Fourteen hours wasn’t even that much compared to some days, but all Draco wanted to do was go home, change into his soft and expensive boxers, and go to sleep on his soft and expensive sheets. He did _not_ want to see Harry Potter’s limp body being carried in on a stretcher.

Once he had gotten over the initial shock, Draco hurried over. Trainee Healer Bethia Burke and Healer Leonel Estrada were running the stretcher and casting diagnostic spells.

“What happened?” Draco asked, trying his very best not to appear out of the ordinary. He was working – this was his job; he fixed the people who came in regardless of who they were.

“Healer Lloyd found him,” Leonel said, still instructing his quill to take down notes on the pad that was racing to keep up with him. “The patient had fainted on the sidewalk a few blocks away. It’s lucky Lloyd decided to walk home today; who knows how long it could have been before someone else found him?”

“How are his vitals?” Draco asked, his professionalism finally taking over.

“His pulse is weak but it’s there.”

Draco swallowed and nodded. He quickly spotted an available room for Potter.

“Here.”

He hurried over and held the door open.

“Put him in here.”

The Healers led the stretcher into the room as instructed. Once in, they levitated Potter onto the bed and began casting more diagnostic spells.

Draco felt for Potter’s pulse. Like Leonel had said, it was weak.

“Alcohol levels are high,” Betty said, her voice high and clear. Her wand was producing a thin, red, vertical line, which she looked at intently.

“So are the potion levels,” said Leonel, frowning at the red swirling shapes in front of him. “I’ll have to determine what potions are in his system.”

“Good. I’m taking this,” Draco said a second before claiming Leonel’s notepad.

Leonel gave a short nod, focusing more on the spells than on Draco.

He quickly skimmed over what was written. It was basically what Leonel had told him earlier – Healer Selina Lloyd had been walking home when she came across a figure sprawled on the sidewalk. She had then called Leonel over from St. Mungo’s. Together, they brought him in. Not much was known about Potter’s condition just yet – just that he’d been unconscious when found.

Draco dropped the pad where it had been levitating earlier; it obeyed and resumed floating by Leonel’s side. He left to acquire Potter’s existing medical files. Upon finding only outdated ones, he started a new file, along with paperwork for this visit. He quickly filled out what he could on his way back to the room; he’d have to wait until Potter regained consciousness to complete the rest.

Draco gazed at Potter, his grip on the files tight. Potter had dropped out of Auror training six years ago, along with Ron Weasley. Weasley, however, remained in the public eye even now. He’d been working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with his brother since dropping out.

Potter, on the other hand, had hardly been seen in the past five years. His disappearance hadn’t stopped _the Prophet_ and countless other news sources from writing about him, of course. Articles were still being published – filled with speculation more than anything else – wondering where he was, what he was doing, and would he be returning to the Wizarding world anytime soon?

And here he was, returned at last. Draco never thought it’d be like this.

Potter was much thinner than he had been before his disappearance, which was saying something – he’d always been a bit scrawny. His face was gaunt; his hollowed cheeks and chapped lips made Draco’s stomach twist. His brown skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his unwashed hair sticking to his forehead. He also had a fair bit of stubble that might’ve been attractive if he hadn’t looked so sickly.

Draco crossed his arms and observed his coworkers at work. Leonel was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed and hand on his face. Betty was nibbling her lip, her forehead pinched in concentration as she scribbled on her own notepad.

“Betty,” Leonel said abruptly, catching Draco’s attention, “Have you tried _Indica Externa_?”

“Oh no,” she said, blue eyes wide. “I’ve only tried _Ostendo_.”

“That’d work too, but in this case, I reckon the Foreign-Identifier spell would be even better.”

Betty nodded, and with a careful wave of her wand, said clearly, “ _Indica Externa_.”

Spidery letters floated out of her wand and into the air, identifying what foreign chemicals were in his system. Betty gaped, and Draco didn’t blame her – the list was extensive and rather worrying. A good number of the potions induced sleep. Draco tried to ignore the sickening thought that rushed to the forefront of his mind – had Potter tried to commit suicide?

No, no. It wasn’t possible. Potter was presumably on his way to St. Mungo’s. He wanted help, right?

Draco tried to focus on Leonel, who was carefully copying each item onto his notepad.

“Could you classify those potions and take a look at the ingredients? See if anything reacted badly with another?”

Leonel nodded and left. Draco turned to Betty, who had a troubled expression on her pale face.

“Could you fire-call his closest contacts? They’re most likely Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”

“Yes, sir,” Betty said and hurried out of the room, leaving Draco alone in the room with Potter.

Draco carefully set up monitory spells to watch Potter’s vitals before sitting down. However, he didn’t get to sit for too long – Scarlett Mitchell, the Healer-in-Charge of the PAPP department, walked in a moment later. Her dark dreadlocks were tied back, revealing her strong and elegant facial structure. Draco stood up hurriedly, though Mitchell’s brown eyes were glued on Potter.

“So it’s true. What’s Harry Potter doing here?”

“I’m not sure, Healer Mitchell,” Draco replied, “Though I believe that he may have overdosed on a number of potions. Healer Estrada is currently running a potion screening and Trainee Burke is calling his emergency contacts. Or rather, those whom I guessed to be his emergency contacts.”

She finally looked at him.

“He doesn’t have any listed?”

“It seems the only medical records we have for Potter are outdated – they’re from Hogwarts and the Ministry.”

“Who’s the emergency contact listed on the Ministry records?”

“Ginevra Weasley,” Draco answered. “However, I decided not to attempt to call her as her work requires her to travel extensively.”

“Do you know for certain that she’s not in London?” Mitchell crossed her arms.

“Yes, Healer. I was told a few days ago by her significant other that they’re in New Zealand until the end of the month,” Draco said, thinking back to the owl Blaise had just sent him.

“Alright,” Mitchell said, her face slightly less tense. She turned back to look at Potter. “I’m sure Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger will be here soon.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Draco replied softly.

As if on cue, Betty walked into the room, followed by a slightly frantic Granger and Weasley. Betty stepped aside as the couple approached Potter’s bedside. The worry was obvious in their faces, and Draco felt another twist in his gut. He’d seen them quite a bit since the Battle, especially since Blaise and Ginevra had started dating.

When Granger and Weasley saw Draco, there was no surprise in their faces – just a desire for answers.

“Malfoy,” Weasley nodded. “What’s happened?”

“Weasley,” Draco greeted. “One of our Healers found him a few blocks away from here at around 9:40 PM. He was brought in unconscious, so we don’t know what it is that happened exactly, though another Healer is determining the cause of his unconsciousness as we speak.”

Draco could tell that Granger’s mind was already furiously at work, and Weasley mostly looked sick.

“Do you have any guesses as to what caused it?” Granger said, saving Weasley from having to speak.

“We found an alarming amount of potions in his system,” Draco said apologetically. He hated this part – seeing the faces of loved ones as he explained what had happened. He trudged on. “Some alcohol was apparent as well, though its content isn’t as significant as the potions.”

Granger leaned against Weasley, her hands covering her face. Weasley put his arm around her, as if they could get any closer, and kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Oh Ron, we should have done something,” Granger said desperately. “We should have gotten him help before this happened – we could have stopped it! We’re so awful and careless – how could we have let this happen?”

Weasley’s face was troubled as he stroked her bushy hair.

“It’s not our fault, Hermione,” Weasley said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Granger. “We couldn’t have known it was this bad. You know how he is about hiding things…”

When Granger didn’t respond, he turned his gaze toward Draco.

“When will we know which potions he had in him?”

“Healer Estrada should be finished evaluating them soon,” Draco replied.

Weasley nodded. “Right.”

“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger,” Mitchell said kindly, stepping forward a bit. “I’d just like to assure you that we’ll treat Mr. Potter to the very best of our abilities. I oversee the Plant and Potions department, and I ensure it is only staffed by the very best. I am Scarlett Mitchell, and Healer Malfoy here is the head of the Strife Feirold Ward. Though it seems you may already be acquainted…?”

Granger and Weasley nodded. Mitchell’s eyebrows rose infinitesimally.

“Yes, well, he is very capable, both as a leader and a Healer. Healer-in-Training Burke,” Mitchell said, extending a hand towards Betty, “can testify to this, I’m sure.”

“Yes ma’am,” Betty said, her cheeks turning slightly pink as Mitchell turned the attention to her. “I’m very lucky to be studying under Healer Malfoy and I’ll do all I can for Mr. Potter, I promise.”

“Thank you, all of you,” Granger, who had composed herself, smiled slightly. “We’re lucky Harry’s in such good hands.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Weasley echoed.

A knock at the door brought their attention to Leonel, who stepped inside, a grim look on his handsome face. He didn’t look at the parchment in his hands before he spoke, choosing instead to meet Granger’s and Weasley’s worried eyes.

“I’m afraid to tell you that there were numerous potions in Mr. Potter’s system, all of them having to do with inducing sleep or calmness. Fortunately, since many of these have the same sort of ingredients, there isn’t too great a risk. However, the lavender in the Sleeping Draught may have a bad reaction to the syrup of hellebore in the Draught of Peace, both of which were found in Mr. Potter’s system. It isn’t mortally dangerous, but it would be best to cleanse his system as soon as possible to avoid any permanent damage.

“So that’s what I propose our team to do immediately.” Leonel glanced at Draco and the others, who nodded. Reassured, Leonel went on, shifting his attention back to Granger and Weasley. “Cleansing is a fairly easy process, though it must be done over a span of several days and can be painful at times. Of course, we’ll do our best to make it as painless as possible.”

Granger’s eyes were watery again. Weasley sagged with relief, though his arm remained around Granger’s waist protectively.

“Thank you so much, Healer…?” Granger said.

“Leonel Estrada. And you are Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, if I’m correct?”

They both nodded.

“It’s wonderful to meet you both,” Leonel said, his voice gentle. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“You and I both, Healer Estrada,” Granger smiled.

Draco could have sworn Weasley’s grip tightened; he bit down a smile. It was hard to blame Weasley, to be truthfully – Leonel was startlingly handsome and charming in a slightly nerdy way. Still, Draco didn’t think Granger would leave Weasley that easily, and there was the small fact that Leonel was gay.

Mitchell interrupted Draco’s silent musings.

“Again, I stress how committed we are to Mr. Potter’s recovery and well-being. We’ll leave you with Mr. Potter now.”

“Thank you, Healer Mitchell. We appreciate your efforts,” Granger replied.

“Of course, Miss Granger.”

Mitchell used her wand to move the two chairs closer to Potter’s bed and left the room with a brief smile. Leonel and Betty followed at her heels. Draco lingered behind, knowing he had to say something. He _wanted_ to say something.

“I promise you both that I’ll do everything I can to make sure Potter’s alright.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Granger said softly. “We don’t doubt you.”

“Yeah, thanks Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, looked at Potter once more, and left.

* * *

 

“You have all the equipment?”

“Yes, Healer,” said Leonel monotonically. “Honestly, I’m not a trainee anymore. Can’t you trust me to keep track of these things?”

“No. You’re still a lower rank than me, a year younger than me, and I’m your superior, which means I am ultimately and unfortunately responsible for you.”

“There’s no need to treat me like a child,” Leonel muttered as he double-checked that he had all the equipment behind Draco’s back. “You have Betty for that.”

“Betty’s no fun though. She’s too nice,” Draco explained, “So you’ll continue to be the one I pick on because there’s no one else.”

“What about Ira? They’re even younger than me,” Leonel pointed out.

“They’re powerful, smart, and wealthy. Only a fool would mess with Ira.”

Leonel grunted in agreement. They continued walking, Draco reading over the potion screening and Leonel taking care not to drop anything.

“Didn’t you use to go to school with Harry Potter?” Leonel asked, interrupting the silence.

“Over eight years ago. I haven’t seen him in person since my trial,” Draco frowned, lowering his voice as he spoke.

“And you know his friends, too.” It wasn’t framed like a question.

“You already know the answer to that. You begged me to meet the visionary Hermione Granger a few times, remember?”

“I still don’t know why you didn’t.”

“The past is in the past,” said Draco, waving the subject away. “Anyway, you’re meeting her now. Isn’t that enough?”

Leonel scoffed, affronted. “I think I have enough tact to not bring up my admiration at a time like this.”

Draco knew he was right.

They reached Potter’s room. Draco knocked on the door gently before opening it and getting welcomed by the sight of Weasley and Granger sitting by Potter, the latter holding his limp hand. Draco swallowed.

“We’re ready to start the cleansing procedure. Unfortunately, it would be best if you two would leave while it occurs, as it can be upsetting to see. We can also only ensure the best results if we’re sure there’s no distractions while we’re performing the procedure.”

Weasley nodded and stood up, extending a hand down to Granger. She seemed more reluctant to leave, electing instead to grip Potter’s hand tighter.

“Come on, Hermione. He’ll be fine. He always is.”

She gazed at Potter for a second more with tired eyes, and finally nodded. Granger released Potter’s and took Weasley’s, and stood up shakily. They walked out the room together, Granger hanging onto Weasley as if for her life. Draco and Leonel glanced at each other.

“Alright. Let’s get started.”

* * *

 

They were almost done with the first stage of the process when Potter responded.

“Wait,” Draco said sharply, surprising Leonel into freezing in his place. “I think he just moved.”

Leonel lowered the vial of clear liquid he was holding and narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“His head. I think he turned it a bit,” Draco said hesitantly. “He might have made a noise, too.”

“Should we stop?”

“No, this is good. It will be easier to have him drink the Clearing Potion than having to force it down or inserting it.”

“Ok.” Leonel looked nervous but prepared. Draco recognized the glint in his dark eyes, determined to face whatever challenge was in front of him.

Draco cleared his throat.

“Potter? Can you hear me?” he said clearly, hoping Potter was conscious enough to understand him, and better yet, communicate. This was almost unheard of, but of course, Potter was exceptional. “I am attempting to have you drink an important potion that will help you get excess chemicals out of your body. If you can hear me, please move any part of your right hand.”

Draco stared down at Potter’s hand, and felt Leonel’s eyes on it too. After a few more moments, he was about to tell Leonel to administer it through the skin when there was a twitch of movement in Potter’s index finger. Leonel glanced at Draco with wide eyes.

“Excellent.” Draco smiled a bit. “Now, Potter, this may burn a bit, but I assure you that it’s beneficial. Do you understand?”

Another twitch.

Draco’s smile grew.

“Right, Leonel. Let him drink it.”

Potter’s eyes were still closed, and his breaths were shallow, but he had confirmed that he could drink it. Leonel carefully tilted Potter’s head forward and tipped the vial into his open mouth. After ensuring that Potter swallowed it, Leonel laid his head back down on the pillow and put the empty vial away.

“Good work, Potter,” Draco said clearly, nodding approvingly. He then addressed Leonel. “Now we just need to make sure it works. He should feel it in his system soon, perhaps a minute or two.”

Leonel nodded, and Draco could see the anxiety in his face.

They only waited for a minute and a half when Potter’s body tightened and cleaned, his back going stiff and lifting several centimeters off the bed. He yelled out, his hand curled into fist and face scrunched in pain.

Draco quickly cast _Muffliato_ in the direction of the door – no use in scaring the other patients and guests. Even Leonel looked frightened, though he was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide it from Draco.

“It’ll be over soon,” Draco assured Leonel over Potter’s yells.

Leonel nodded, his brows furrowed and impossibly perfect teeth worrying his bottom lip. Then, as soon as it started, the yelling stopped. Potter’s body relaxed and slowly fell back onto the mattress.

Draco checked Potter’s vitals, and upon seeing that they were as stable as they could get at this stage, he told Leonel to pack it up. Leonel collected the equipment in his arms as Draco undid the muting spell. When he opened the door, he was greeted by Weasley’s and Granger’s equally worried faces. Draco gestured to Leonel, giving him permission to go. Leonel nodded and walked off.

“The first stage has been completed,” Draco informed them with his best comforting smile. “The second stage will take place tomorrow night, stage three two days after that, and then he should be completely cleansed of all foreign chemicals that are currently in his body.”

The couple relaxed visibly.

“Do you know when he’ll wake up?” Weasley asked anxiously.

“He was actually partly conscious while we were in there. He didn’t open his eyes or speak, but he did acknowledge what I was saying,” Draco said, slightly amused by how much Granger and Weasley were perking up. “Judging by this behavior, he might even wake up tomorrow morning, which is quite rare. I’m impressed, I must say.”

Granger’s lips quivered slightly. “That’s wonderful.”

“Thank you. Really, Malfoy,” Weasley said, and managed to not look ill whilst saying it.

Heartened by this show of faith, Draco took a chance.

“I’m just doing my job, I assure you. It’s Potter who’s been fighting. Actually, speaking of Potter…” he paused. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions regarding his history with potions.”

This sobered them up rather quickly.

Granger hesitated before asking lowly, “Could we go somewhere private?”

Draco wasn’t surprised – this was clearly a sensitive topic, and not to mention, had to do with Potter.

“Of course,” he said. “My office is just down the corridor. Follow me.”

He led them to his office, desperate for answers. He opened the door and allowed Granger and Weasley to enter first, watching as they sat down and took in the room.

“Right.” Draco sat down at his desk and took out Potter’s file. He looked up at Granger and Weasley, who both seemed rather reluctant. “You can begin anytime you’d like.”

Draco dabbed his quill in his inkpot as Granger prepared her words.

“Well,” she said cautiously. It was clear she hadn’t told this story before. “Harry taking potions isn’t anything new. He started taking Dreamless Sleep shortly after the war ended. But it was still an approved amount back then, and he only took it when necessary. But when he started training as an Auror, it got worse.”

“I remember he’d come into work restless,” Weasley said, picking up where Granger left off. “Looking sort of drained, even though he told me he’d used Dreamless Sleep the night before. I reckon that’s when he started overusing it, to the point where it became a cycle. He’d come in, work his arse off, go home, do paperwork, take Dreamless Sleep, and go to bed. Every day.”

“Do you know how long he did that?” Draco asked, continuing his notes as he spoke.

“Maybe a year?” Weasley said uncertainly. “But that was before it got really bad. He could hardly get out of bed some days. And then Harry just stopped coming to work. Hermione and I went over to his flat, and he just said he was tired. It was halfway reasonable. I mean, I quit a few months later to work at my brother’s store.”

Draco’s quill scratched furiously against the parchment.

“Were you aware that he was taking potions other than Dreamless Sleep at the same time?”

They both nodded.

“We would go visit him sometimes, cos he hardly went out anymore.” Weasley frowned, remembering. “His flat was always a mess. Just – empty potion bottles everywhere. Most of them were Dreamless Sleep, but there were some others too.”

“When did you start noticing these changes? The addition of these new potions?”

Weasley looked over to Granger for help.

“Around half a year after he quit. And that was…in June 2000.”

 _Just a month after the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts_ , Draco thought to himself as he wrote it down.

“So it was most likely around early 2001?”

“Yes.” Granger sighed. “I wish I had the exact details down…how I didn’t think to remember everything before…”

“This is already very helpful,” Draco reassured. Granger nodded, though she didn’t look convinced in the slightest. Draco pushed on. “Did you ever notice Potter drinking excessively?”

Weasley shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Sometimes, when we’d go over to his flat, everything smelled like alcohol. And when we told him he might want to stop, he shrugged it off.”

Draco nodded. “And I don’t suppose you have an estimation as to when that started.”

“Later on. When Harry started getting more desperate – when the potions weren’t working as well – he started drinking,” Granger said, looking pained. “Last year. Spring of 2004.”

As Draco wrote this down, he spoke again.

“I apologize for having to ask you all of these questions, especially at a time like this. I understand it’s a sensitive topic.”

Granger shook her head.

“If it helps, we’ll do anything.”

* * *

 

Draco woke the next morning with his face pressed against his notes. He sat up slowly, back aching from having spent the night hunched over his desk.

He blinked at the sunlight coming though the blinds, eyes adjusting to the harsh light that woke him up before unsticking the notes from his cheek. Draco checked the time with a Tempus charm – it was barely six in the morning.

He stood up and stretched, checking the mirror to evaluate the damage. His hair was sticking up on one side and his robes were wrinkled. Luckily, there was no ink on his face.

“Take a shower,” his mirror suggested.

“You think I wouldn’t if I could?” Draco grumbled.

He smoothed his hair down and took out the spare robes he kept in his office. He quickly replaced his wrinkled robes with the fresh ones.

Satisfied, Draco stuck his wand in his pocket and opened his door. He was immediately welcomed by the slightly interested (or rather interested, by their standards) face of Ira White. Ira, head of the Aletta Wellensly ward of the same department, was lanky, as blond as Draco, and genderfluid.

“Ira,” Draco greeted.

“Is it true? Harry Potter’s here?” Ira asked calmly.

“Yes.” Draco frowned. “Who told you?”

“Betty. She tells me everything, so don’t punish her for it.”

“I won’t,” Draco sighed. “I just hope _you_ don’t tell anyone, because it’s supposed to be kept under wraps. The last thing we need here is a team of _Prophet_ reporters, and Merlin forbid, Skeeter.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s just, you know, I’m ridiculously bored after submitting my new potions in for approval by the Ministry. I’ve nothing to do.”

They looked hopefully at Draco, and he sighed again.

“Fine. If he’s still asleep, and if there aren’t any guests in his room, I’ll let you in. Only for a second, though. If anyone asks, you’re doing something with potions.”

“Aren’t I always?”

They made their way to Potter’s room. Draco lightly knocked on the door before opening the door and peering in. Potter looked about the same as he did yesterday, though perhaps he had some more color in his face. Draco let Ira in.

They whistled lowly. “Five years of silence and then this.”

“He’ll be ok,” Draco said quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And then, Potter woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and face covered in sweat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm slacking so much, lots of stuff going on, ha ha ha. Also - I'm obviously not a medical professional so sorry if I make any horrible mistakes.

White ceiling. White walls.

He shouldn’t have sat up so fast. Harry pressed his palm to his forehead and shut his eyes, trying to distract himself from the lightheadedness.

“Lie back down, Potter,” said an urgent voice, somewhat familiar.

Harry lowered his hand and opened his eyes partially, squinting at the slightly blurry figure in front of him. They were walked forward with arms extended towards him, like they were going to grab him.

“Lie down,” that voice said again. “You’re safe.”

Head pounding, Harry groaned. Maybe he _should_ lie back down. He lowered himself onto the bed and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him.

* * *

When he woke next, Harry felt slightly better.

He didn’t make the same mistake of sitting up right away, and instead felt around for his glasses. They were on the bedside table; he put them on and observed his surroundings.

St Mungo’s. Of course.

Harry sighed, relieved he had gotten here. Although he didn’t remember much of the past few days, he did remember that he had really wanted (needed?) to get to St Mungo’s.

He then realized someone else was in the room – a Healer, in lime green robes.

“Malfoy?” Harry croaked, throat aching from lack of use.

“Healer Malfoy, Potter,” Malfoy said, confirming his identity.

Malfoy stepped closer and before Harry could react, cast several spells on him. There was a warm sensation in his chest and he watched as various numbers and lines rose into the air above him.

“Good,” Malfoy muttered to himself. Harry watched, mind hazy and unable to cooperate as Malfoy wrote on his papers. He returned his attention to Harry. “Your vital signs are improving. Would you like some water?”

Harry nodded and drank down the glass of water Malfoy had handed to him. Once he gave it back to Malfoy, he said, “Sorry, did you say Healer?”

“Yes, I did,” Malfoy said, his face rather expressionless. “Do you feel any pain?”

“No, I’m just sort of dizzy. Since when?” Harry asked, more interested in how Malfoy was a Healer than his health.

Malfoy exhaled impatiently.

“You know, if I were you, I’d be more concerned about my health than my Healer. Did you know that you were unconscious for at least fifteen hours? Or that your system was overridden by an unsafe number of potions, and not to mention, alcohol? You’re incredibly lucky you were found, Potter. I hate to think what would have happened if you were left in that state all night-.”

Harry was barely listening. His curiosity was rapidly turning into annoyance, and his brain wasn’t nearly as hazy as before.

“Right, I get it,” Harry interrupted, causing Malfoy’s grey eyes to narrow. “When can I leave?”

“Leave?” Malfoy repeated incredulously. “You need to stay here for two days at the very least, so we can finish treating you. Potter, I don’t think you understand how grave this situation is.”

Harry was starting to get a headache.

“Where’s my wand, Malfoy?”

“You’ll get it back once you’ve completed treatment,” Malfoy said, his voice calm once more.

“I won’t be completing anything,” Harry shot back, his annoyance growing exponentially. Harry advanced on Malfoy, his lightheadedness forgotten in his anger. Harry gripped the front of Malfoy’s green robes and looked him square in the eye. “You let me the fuck out of here now.”

Malfoy looked at Harry impassively. “I’ll advise you to lie back down, Potter.”

“Or what?” Harry challenged.

Before Malfoy could respond, two Healers burst in the room with shocked expressions on their faces.

“Mr. Potter, please!” one of them said, pulling Harry away from Malfoy and pushing him back towards the bed with the help of the second individual.

Harry knew when to give up and conceded, sitting down and gritting his teeth.

One of the Healers, a tall, lanky individual, shook their hair from their face and exhaled. There was a small shiny pin on the front of their robes, which read 'Ira White - they/them.'

“I’m Healer White, and I’ll be assisting Healer Malfoy in keeping you here,” White said pleasantly. They regarded Harry and frowned. “I do hope you’ll behave.”

Harry didn’t respond.

The other Healer was a young woman with a long, black braid and white Healer robes – perhaps she was of a lower rank.

“Are you alright, Healer?” she asked quietly.

“Just peachy,” replied Malfoy. “Thanks, Betty.”

“Of course, Healer Malfoy,” Betty said. “Erm, I brought a sedative. Should I administer it?”

“No, we’re trying to help Potter recover; he doesn’t need any chemicals in his system.”

“Right, of course.”

“Recover?” Harry asked, voice loud and harsh.

Malfoy looked pointedly at him. “ _Yes,_ Potter, recover. As I’ve said before, we must help you flush out the potions in your system. And then, we’ll be helping you stop taking said potions and curb your addiction.”

Harry glared at Malfoy. Who did he think he was, forcing Harry to stay here and saying he had an addiction?

“How’d you know that?” Harry snarled.

“Oh.” Malfoy seemed troubled. He turned to the girl, Betty. “Inform Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley that Potter has woken up. I believe they went home for the night so you’ll have to fire-call them.”

“Yes, Healer Malfoy.”

Harry felt a deep pain settle in his chest. Ron and Hermione. Had they seen him like this, unconscious and helpless in a hospital bed?

How could he have let this happen to himself? Although, he thought, some part of him had wanted this, right? Fine, he was in trouble last night – he could admit that. But he didn’t want to stay here and “recover.” He just needed to get back on his feet and get out as soon as possible. He felt nauseous just thinking about the media getting ahold of this – Harry Potter reemerges in St. Mungo’s after…how many years was it now?

Trembling, Harry shook his head.

“I have to go. I can’t stay here.” His voice betrayed him by wavering. “Just give me the treatment and I’ll do it myself. At home. But I can’t stay here.”

Malfoy and White stared at him with identical expressions: worry. He couldn’t stand it. He’d had enough years of people just staring at him, watching him, needing him, asking things of him.

“Please. Just let me go.”

“It’s a complicated process,” Malfoy said carefully, “And almost impossible to do on oneself. It would be much safer and effective if experienced Healers treated you.”

Harry glanced worriedly at the window facing out the hallway. White walked over and shut the blinds.

“No one will see you,” White said, voice gentler than Harry had ever heard it.

“And nobody will know you’re here, either. Healer White and I will make sure nobody outside of this department knows, alright?”

Harry nodded. It was a little easier to breathe.

“Two days?”

“Minimum,” Malfoy said, lips twisting into a frown.

“Fine,” Harry grumbled.

He crawled back under the covers, ignoring Malfoy and White, and took off his glasses, wanting to sleep.

* * *

It turned out, however, that he couldn’t sleep. Not for very long, at least. After just an hour of restless sleep, Harry woke up.

He tossed and turned, growing increasingly irritated as time passed. Finally, he gave up on trying to go back to sleep and chose instead to stare at the ceiling.

It was an hour and a half of staring before Hermione and Ron came into the room.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered as she approached.

Ron was behind her, dreadfully pale.

Harry felt a flurry of emotions at once – joy at seeing them, embarrassment that it was like this, guilt that they looked so upset. He’d caused them so much trouble.

“Hermione, Ron,” Harry said, his voice scratchy. He didn’t even know what to say. “I’m – I’m so sorry.”

“No, mate, we’re the ones who are sorry,” Ron said lowly.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione repeated tearfully. “We should’ve tried harder to help you.”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t want to be helped.”

_And I still don’t want to be._

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, eyes filling with tears as she nearly ran to hug him. Harry hugged her back tightly, smelling her scent clearly, feeling the shudder of her shoulders and the strength of her arms wrapped around him. He reveled in this intense reminder that yes, he was alive and yes, he was loved, somehow. “We love you so much and it just – _hurts_ so much to see you like this, to have been seeing you like this, and to know that we’ve been so useless.”

 “I love you too,” Harry said quietly as they parted, though Hermione kept a hand on his arm. “And you’re not useless. None of this is your fault.”

Harry looked away, afraid he was going to start crying. Hermione must have sensed this, because she gripped his arm tighter.

“Harry, mate…we’re always here for you,” Ron said. “Through thick and thin. No matter what.”

“I know, Ron,” Harry said, biting his lip. “Thanks, mate. Really.”

They all sat in silence for a bit, Harry still staring at the opposite wall for fear of breaking down (he would not let that happen – he couldn’t). Finally, Hermione cleared her throat.

“I’ll let the Healers know you’re awake.”

Harry nodded. He heard Hermione mutter the Patronus charm and felt the unmistakable warmth appear and disappear. They were only waiting a few minutes before there was a soft knock at the door.

Finally, Harry turned to meet the gazes of everyone in the room – Hermione, Ron, Malfoy, and the girl from earlier, Betty?

He finally had a chance to get a look at Malfoy without feeling like he might pass out or burst from anger. He’d grown up in the past five years and held himself with more confidence. His hair had grown a bit since Hogwarts, and there were bags underneath his pale grey eyes. Malfoy met his gaze evenly.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Potter,” Malfoy said without much emotion.

He was holding the same papers he had had earlier that day. Betty was at his heels, carrying what looked like a hospital gown.

“I’ve brought you a clean set of hospital robes, Mr. Potter,” Betty said as she set it down carefully at the foot of his bed. She then placed a plastic bag on top – there was something in it. His hoodie, probably. “You can put the clothing you’re wearing in there for now.”

Harry nodded.

Malfoy stepped closer and drew his wand. “I’m going to check your vitals now.” And he did so, staring with great intensity at the numbers and lines and then scribbling his observations onto his paper.

“You’re improving quickly, and I must say I’m impressed,” Malfoy said begrudgingly. He checked the time, glancing at a silver watch on his thin wrist. “Your heart rate is still too fast, but that’s to be expected. I’d like to see how you’re doing with withdrawal. I’m going to ask you a series of questions to evaluate how you’re doing, alright? I can ask Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to leave if you’d like.”

Harry looked at them; their interest was thinly veiled.

“No, that’s alright. They can stay.”

Ron gave Harry a small grin.

“Do you have a headache?”

“I had one earlier,” Harry said, “But it’s mostly gone now.”

“Any nausea?”

Harry shook his head.

“Do you feel anxious?”

Harry resisted the urge to laugh. He felt anxious all the time, except perhaps when he was on calming potions.

“As usual.”

Malfoy frowned. “Have you ever been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder?”

“I don’t generally see physicians, so no.”

“We’ll look into that.” Malfoy wrote something down. “Well, it seems you have the typical symptoms of withdrawal from calming potions and alcohol, so you shouldn’t be too worried. If you experience any more severe symptoms, alert a Healer right away.”

“What would the severe symptoms be?” Hermione asked cautiously.

Malfoy glanced over to her, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Keep in mind that these are called severe for a reason, but…they can include panic attacks, hallucinations, seizures, and suicidal ideation.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows were becoming dangerously close to touching. Hermione’s eyes were wide and Ron looked a bit sick. Harry, however, had dealt with most of these ‘severe symptoms’ before, so he wasn’t too worried.

“We have, of course, spells set up to alert us if Potter’s having a seizure,” Malfoy said, mostly to Hermione and Ron. He frowned at them a bit more before turning to Betty. “Could you preform the Foreign-Identifier Spell? I’d like to check the progress of the cleansing procedure.”

Betty nodded and took out a notepad and quill from her pockets.

“You won’t feel anything,” she told Harry as she then took out a wand. “ _Indica Externa_.”

Harry watched as a short list appeared in front of him. Betty began copying down the floating words with great speed; Hermione and Ron looked interestedly at it, the former moving closer to get a better look.

“Excellent,” Malfoy murmured, his eyes also on the list.

“It’s so much shorter than before,” Betty commented after she finished.

Malfoy nodded.

“So this means the cleansing procedure is working?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“It does. All of the numbers have significantly been reduced,” Malfoy answered. He spoke to Betty as Hermione and Ron hugged. “Run it by Leonel, just to make sure.”

“Yes, Healer Malfoy.”

Betty left the room, her long braid trailing behind her.

“Congratulations, Potter,” Malfoy said to Harry. “You’re on the way to recovery. But before I let you rest, I need you to answer some more questions.

Harry stiffened. “What kind of questions?”

“I think you know what kind,” Malfoy said, actually sounding a bit sorry, “And I wouldn’t be asking if I really didn’t need to know in order to treat you.”

Harry glanced at his friends; they were looking at him in the way he imagined worried parents would.

“Fine.”

“Good,” said Malfoy. “Once again, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger can either stay or leave – it’s up to you.”

He knew the answer before Malfoy even asked – he grimaced apologetically at them and hoped they would understand.

“Good luck, mate,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back. He glanced over at Malfoy, then back at Harry. “And don’t kill him.”

“We’ll be right outside.” Hermione gave him a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Both Harry and Malfoy watched them leave. His eyesight caught on Malfoy – he was watching him with a somber face, making Harry feel even more uncomfortable than before.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Harry said, choosing to stare at his hands instead of Malfoy’s annoying piteous face. “What do you want to know?”

“Your friends have already told me a few details regarding your potions abuse-“

“Abuse?” Harry interrupted, shocked into looking up at Malfoy, who stood, unsurprised. “It’s not abuse, it’s just use.”

“Potter, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your ‘use’ crossed the line into abuse a few years ago,” he said calmly. He’d clearly done this many times before. “And we at St. Mungo’s are going to help you recover from it. But first, you need to focus on answering these questions and not interrupting me, if you please.”

Harry didn’t feel inclined to believe him (help him? Impossible) but he sat back and shut his mouth anyways.

“As I was saying, I only have a vague timeline so far, and I’d like to fill in out in order to better understand you,” he paused, waiting to see if Harry would stop him. When he didn’t, Malfoy continued, “Granger and Weasley have told me you started taking dreamless sleep when you began Auror training and it escalated about a year into taking them. This would place us around 1999. Is this correct?”

Harry nodded.

“You then quit training mid-2000, and began taking additional potions around 2001. This then takes us to spring of 2004 – last year – when alcohol also became a prominent part of your life. Is that also correct?”

Perhaps it did sound worse when spoken aloud, but Harry still thought it was extreme to say he had an addiction.

He nodded.

Malfoy looked him square in the eye.

“Obviously, stopping the intake of all of these drugs would be the opposite of beneficial, so we’ve been cleansing your bloodstream of all the alcohol and potions that are present in this moment. It won’t take away years of damage, but it _will_ give you a partially clean slate.

“After we’ve completed the cleansing procedure, we’ll focus on the psychological effects of your addiction. And yes, Potter, you have an addiction,” Malfoy said, seeming to sense that Harry was about to interrupt with a denial. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. The Healers at St. Mungo’s are completely prepared to treat you both physically and mentally. There have been changes made in the recent years so we are able to treat our patients fully. You are not the first to come here needing addiction treatment, Potter, and you won’t be the last.”

Harry could hardly believe this arrogant prat was telling him all of this so matter-of-factly with his snobby face, telling him that he had an addiction. The absurdity of it all caught up with Harry’s irritation and he finally burst out.

“I _don’t_ -“

“ _Yes,_ ” Malfoy cut across him sternly, his face twitching momentarily from its usual expressionlessness, “You do. The first step is acceptance, Potter, and you’ll soon complete it.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy. You don’t know shit about me,” Harry growled, wanting to scare Malfoy into showing some sort of emotion – anything other than this infuriating blank stare he was currently getting.

It barely worked.

Malfoy just took a deep breath and took a step closer.

“My job is to learn about you so I can effectively treat you,” he said, his voice probably meant to be calming. “I know we haven’t had the best of pasts – “Harry scoffed. “- but I _am_ committed to learning what’s necessary for your treatment. And I believe I know enough about you to realize that you are a strong and determined person. If anyone can fight addiction, it’s you.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say. Malfoy frowned and crossed his arms. Was he embarrassed? Harry couldn’t tell.

“Well,” he said, his voice a little less even now, “The first thing we’re going to do is cut alcohol completely. You’re going to feel the withdrawal symptoms peak in about a day, but it’s important that you don’t drink a drop. Do you understand?”

Malfoy seemed to be forgetting something.

“I’ll be gone in two days,” Harry mumbled. “How are you going to monitor me after that?”

“I’m hoping you’ll consent to staying here a bit longer. It would highly increase your chances of recovery, as there’s nothing for you to relapse on here. And, if you begin to feel more severe symptoms, you can receive almost instant care.”

He frowned at Harry, who was still feeling rather resentful.

“Think on it, at least.” Malfoy took his wand out and checked Harry’s vitals again. “Your heart rate has accelerated a bit. How are you feeling now, regarding the symptoms I asked you about earlier?”

“Sort of nauseous,” Harry bit out. “Not that bad.”

“The bathroom is just a few steps away, but if you feel you can’t make it, there’s a bucket at the side of your bed.” Malfoy gestured towards it. “I’ll leave you to rest now. Healer Estrada and I will be in tomorrow morning to do step two of the cleansing process, but if you need anyone before then, don’t hesitate to alert us.”

“Healer Estrada?”

“You haven’t met him yet,” Malfoy said, “But I assure you that you can trust him. He won’t tell a soul that you’re here.”

“Fine.”

Malfoy studied him for a moment longer before taking his leave. A minute later, Ron and Hermione reentered.

“How was it?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Fine,” Harry sighed. “Malfoy just asked me to double-check the dates you gave him. When’d you talk to him?”

“Last night,” Ron supplied. “We just went in his office and answered his questions. Erm…was everything alright?”

“It’s Malfoy,” Harry said, and that should have been answer enough.

Though, according to the way Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, it wasn’t.

“Mate…he’s really changed,” Ron said slowly. “And I hated the git when we were in Hogwarts. We all did   - you know that. But he’s different now. He’s a Healer – doesn’t that say something?”

Harry shrugged. “Healers make money.”

“There are other ways to make money, Harry,” Hermione said. “Draco wants to help people.”

“Oh, he’s _Draco_ to you now?”

For a second, it looked like Hermione was going to say something. She decided against it, however, and simply sighed.

“Harry, please just give him a chance. From what I’ve read, he’s an excellent Healer and very committed to helping you. This whole department is.”

Harry scoffed. “Whatever.”

“You _need_ this, Harry,” Hermione said firmly. When Harry rolled his eyes, she continued, her voice stern. “You need help. And some part of you knows that – otherwise, why would you have come here?”

Harry stared down at his hands. Why _did_ he come here?

The headache was coming back.

“Look –“

But he was interrupted by a knock at the door. It opened a second later and in came someone Harry didn’t know. She was tall – her heels adding to her height, and had a well-practiced smile.

“Mr. Potter. I’m sorry to interrupt but I just wanted to introduce myself to you as I haven’t gotten a chance yet. I’m Scarlett Mitchell, the Healer-in-Charge of the Potion and Plant Poisoning department.”

“Er, nice to meet you. And it’s no problem.”

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger.”

“Likewise,” said Ron.

“I understand Healer Malfoy is attending to you with some help from the other Healers. They’ll take excellent care of you,” Mitchell said to Harry. “It has also come to my attention that you’d rather keep your stay here confidential, which, of course, is something we can do. I trust all of my employees that are in your care, and that this room will be sufficient in keeping your identity hidden. However, if you’re not comfortable enough in here, it would be no trouble to move you.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Harry assured. “I don’t plan on being here for much longer anyway so I wouldn’t want to cause trouble. Thanks, Healer Mitchell.”

Mitchell’s eyebrows drew together for just a second, but she quickly regained her composure.

“Of course. I’ll take my leave now, but if anyone needs anything, my office is just down the hall and to the right.”

They nodded and thanked her, and Mitchell left. The three of them were quiet for a moment before Hermione took the smallest step forward.

“Harry, are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer? I feel like you can overcome this easier if you stayed here at St. Mungo’s,” she said in her suggesting-not-demanding voice.

“I won’t buy any more drinks or potions, and I’ll throw any the ones I have at home. If you don’t believe me, you can come over and do it yourselves,” Harry replied.

Hermione suppressed a sigh.

“I reckon you can’t quit that soon. You’d have to drink a little bit of potion every day before you stop completely. Y’know, lower the amount a bit until it’s nothing,” Ron piped up, “Cos just cutting it out would be dangerous. But regulating it would be hard on your own.”

Harry looked at him, surprised he knew so much about this. Hermione was also staring at him.

“What?” he said defensively, taking in their expressions. “My dad’s uncle abused potions when I was a kid.”

“Sorry, Ron. I didn’t realize you had so much second-hand experience with this,” Hermione said quickly.

“Yeah, well, I do,” Ron said uncomfortable. He turned to speak to Harry again. “Point is you should stay here so you can get the right amount every day. Then you can leave.”

“But if that’s true,” said Harry as something occurred to him, “Why are they doing the cleansing thing?”

“There were two ingredients that had the potential to be deadly when mixed,” Hermione explained. “I’m sure that’s why they had to perform the cleansing procedure.”

“What, and then I get put back on potions?” Harry asked, irritation bubbling up in him once more.

“Ask Draco about it later tonight,” Hermione told him. Ron nodded, eyes flashing from Harry to Hermione and back. “He’ll clear it up. He’s the Healer, after all.”

Harry nodded slowly, still wary about this cleansing thing. And then something else occurred to him.

“When’d you start calling Malfoy by his first name, anyway?”

“Since we started spending more time with him,” Hermione said. At Harry’s bewildered face, she elaborated. “When we go out with Ginny and Blaise, Draco’s also there sometimes.”

“Oh,” Harry said, unsure of what to think.

It wasn’t their fault. Harry had been the one who shut himself in and pushed everyone away. Ron and Hermione had invited him out countless times, he’d just been too fucked up to actually go – either mentally or physically. Or both.

God, but it was weird thinking about the five of them drinking and having a good time. Could the past really be in the past?

“Harry?” Ron asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You ok, mate?”

“Er, yeah – sorry,” Harry mumbled.

Ron’s eyes were concerned but he nodded anyway. His gaze drifted over to the clock on the wall.

“You should probably be getting back to work,” Ron said softly to Hermione.

She, too, looked at the clock and sighed.

“You’re right,” she said. “Harry, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to.”

“I know, Hermione,” Harry replied. “Go on, it’s alright.”

She touched his hand once more. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Get some rest, mate.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, and watched the two of them leave.

He felt foolish; like an irresponsible baby who couldn’t handle himself in the real world. Harry sat for a bit, waiting for someone else to come in.

When no one else did, Harry stood up shakily. Time for this baby to look a little less like a mess.

He grabbed the bag (his hoodie _was_ in there) and hospital robes and went to the bathroom. It was small, predictably, with a shower, sink, mirror, and toilet. Harry put the items down on the closed toilet and started by peeling off his shirt (how many days had he been wearing it?).

Harry caught his shirtless reflection in the mirror and stared, transfixed. When was the last time he’d _really_ looked in the mirror? Merlin, he looked bad. No wonder he avoided his own reflection. He trailed his hand down his own chest; he was thinner – though he always was thanks to the Dursleys – and his skin didn’t have its previous healthy color. Heavy bags were under his dead eyes, and even his hair seemed to be less animated.

He took his glasses off to wash his voice, though it barely made any difference. _Take a bloody shower_ , scowled a voice within him, but he couldn’t. Even this took too much effort.

With a sigh, he finished changing into the white hospital robes. If anyone saw him now, there’d be no doubt he was a patient here at St. Mungo’s. Hopefully the staff could keep their promises and keep his being here private.

Harry gathered his clothes and stuffed them in the bag, which he then tied tightly. He made his way back to the bed, dropping the bag next to the sick bucket as he sat down. A headache was coming on, and though he’d like to sleep it off, he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to. He settled into bed regardless.

* * *

 

There was a knock at the door around 10 pm. Malfoy walked in with his clipboard and a ridiculously handsome Healer Harry had never seen before, all thick dark hair and pearly white teeth.

“Sorry to come so late, Potter, but we’ve got the second cleansing step to complete,” Malfoy said. He nodded towards the new Healer. “That’s Healer Leonel Estrada, who’ll be assisting me. Healer, this is –“

“Harry Potter, of course,” Estrada interrupted. He smiled and said (in an American accent, Harry noted), “It's good to meet you, Mr. Potter, though I wish it were under better circumstances…”

“Likewise,” Harry responded. Normally, he’d be irritated at this type of greeting, but Merlin, was he charming.

Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry turned to look at him.

“Before we begin, I’d like to ask how you’re feeling.”

“I’ve had a headache for a while now, and I’m a bit tired, but other than that…fine, I s'pose.”

Malfoy was writing on his clipboard again. It was a peculiar sight to Harry – somewhat endearing. He didn’t want to make sense of it.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “I tried, but no.”

Malfoy nodded. “Withdrawal from both alcohol and calming potions will affect your sleep rather severely, I’m afraid. Because there’ll be no more risk of death after today’s procedure, we’ll administer a basic calming potion afterwards to aid in you retaining a regular sleeping schedule. It won’t be too strong, of course, but you do need something in your system.”

So Ron was right. He sighed, then looked at Malfoy.

“Well? Go ahead then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol something about this story makes my writing 100000x times worse. Probably cause I started it in 2014 and I just revert back to then. SORRY

Draco was looking through his notes again when there was a brisk knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, not looking up from his parchment.

The door opened and a second later, Leonel was seated at the corner of his desk.

“Did you spend the night again?”

“It’s none of your business,” Draco said, feeling his brows furrow.

“That’s a yes, then.”

“What are you doing here, Leo?” Draco sighed, finally looking him in the eye.

Leonel frowned at him a bit, but kept his tone light and concentrated on a paperweight he’d picked up from Draco’s desk.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t overworking yourself, though you obviously are.”

“Well-spotted.”

“Jesus, Draco,” Leonel said. He put the paperweight down with a bit more force than necessary. “Forgive me for caring about your health.”

Draco looked down at his notes again, uncomfortable. “I can take care of myself. I know my limits. I’m just – focused on this bloody case.”

“Mr. Potter?”

“What else?” Draco muttered. And then the thoughts that had been running through his head flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Merlin, I never thought I’d see him again, which was foolish of me in hindsight, I suppose, but like _this_? He was meant to marry the Weasley and have a whole clan of little red-headed monsters, not…”

Leonel put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, his face solemn. Draco tensed infinitesimally but let it stay there, allowing himself to briefly enjoy the feel of physical contact from another person.

It’d been almost a year since Leonel and he had broken up, and Draco hadn’t gotten close to another person since.

It was short-lived but intense; it began when they spent Leonel’s first few months at St. Mungo’s flirting nonstop (he’d transferred from a wizarding hospital in the States). They could barely keep their hands off each other, taking advantage of every possible moment they had free. They thrived off each other’s wit and passion, their ability to talk about the same subject with each other for ages, and how they could have sex multiple times a day before finally tiring. Predictably, though, their relationship had fizzled out after six months, leaving them good friends and better colleagues.

It was for the best, Draco had decided. He _was_ Leonel’s superior, after all. Even though they hadn’t breached their employment contracts, Draco knew very well that it wasn’t the best situation to be dating one’s junior.

Draco shook himself out of his reverie and cleared his throat; Leonel took his hand back.

“It’s fine,” Draco told Leonel (and himself). “It’s not like we were ever close.”

“I got that, somehow. You never did talk much about Harry Potter, did you?”

“It’s…complicated,” Draco admitted. “The –“

“War, yes,” Leonel finished for him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drudge up such an uncomfortable subject.”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. “It can hardly be avoided with Potter here in the ward. You’re lucky you were on the other side of the world for it all.”

“Hm,” Leonel agreed.

After a few more moments, he stood, studying Draco with his dark eyes.

“Well,” Leonel said, his voice soft. “You can go home, if you want. I’ll cover for you, and Selina has morning shift too. You don’t have anything scheduled that we can’t do, right?”

“No, I suppose not,” Draco said. He managed a slight smile, appreciative of his concern. “Thank you, Leonel.”

“Just get some actual sleep in an actual bed.”

* * *

 

Draco had to admit that he _did_ he feel better after sleeping in his bed for the first time in two nights. It was a step up from his desk, and Draco woke up feeling relatively refreshed considering he’d only slept four hours. And it was only ten – brilliant. He had enough time to shower and make a quick breakfast before heading back to work.

He did so, savoring the way the hot water felt on his knotted shoulders. He exited his bathroom after clothing himself, pushing his damp hair out of his face as he made his way to the kitchen. His one-bedroom flat was certainly different than his childhood home, but he liked it very much. It’d become home after all these years, and Merlin knew Draco needed a new one.

With his father in prison and his mother spending most of her time in France, the Manor stood empty. Draco went to retrieve old texts or even keepsakes from time to time, and he and his mother spent Christmas holidays in it, but otherwise, it was deserted. There were too many ghosts to render it habitable, in Draco’s opinion.

When he’d finished his tea and toast, Draco gathered his things and Apparated back to his office, feeling slightly more prepared for what was in store for today.

* * *

 

In fact, all was well until noon.

Draco had filled out paperwork for a patient that would be discharged later that day – a young woman who’d been brought in late last night. Her friend had supposedly been “helping her” by spiking her drink with Befuddlement Draught. She defended herself, saying she just wanted to push her in the right direction, but instead of a push, she’d given her friend a shove.

He was on his way to do one final check on the witch in question when one of the Healers in his department stopped him.

“Oh! Healer Malfoy.”

“Healer Lloyd, good morning,” he said.

Selina Lloyd was a plump, good-natured witch who was brilliant with potions. Draco had always liked her – she treated him kindly even when he’d first started at St. Mungo’s, when he was a pariah of sorts.

“Good morning,” Selina said, and then lowered her voice. “That _was_ Harry Potter I saw two nights ago, wasn’t it? How is he?”

“Has no one really told you?” Draco asked, and when Selina shook her head, he was slightly surprised. “This must be the first time they’ve actually kept their bloody mouths shut. Yes, he’s here, but he’s asked us to keep his presence under wraps. No reporters, no fans, and absolutely no _Prophet_.”

“I understand, of course,” Selina said. Draco motioned for her to follow, and she did, speaking quietly as they walked. “I was just so shocked when I’d stumbled upon his body! Not every day you see the Chosen One passed out on the sidewalk, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“What happened to him?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been assigned to the case.”

“You, Leo, _and_ Betty? You three are more than enough.”

Draco grimaced; it didn’t feel like he was enough. “I hope so. He overdosed on a combination of calming potions, sleeping potions, and alcohol.”

Selina stopped in her tracks, and Draco paused too. She resumed her pace straight-away, though her face was white.

“Merlin’s beard.”

“Yes, it’s – it’s bad,” Draco concluded weakly.

“I never would have imagined! That’s horrible.”

“I don’t think anyone ever did.”

They made it to the young witch’s room and stood to the side of the closed door.

“All right. Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said glumly. She patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Draco.”

“Thanks, Selina,” he said, feeling that he really wouldn’t.

* * *

 

The check-up was quick and Draco discharged her confidently, reminding her to be careful of her drinks (and friends).

Once he saw her off to the receptionists’ desk, he sent a Patronus to Leonel, asking to meet with him so they could discuss Potter. Leonel’s Rottweiler came bounding back a minute later, telling him that he was in the faculty lounge.

Draco made his way over to the lounge and greeted Betty and Leonel, who were chatting and snacking. They looked up as he entered, Betty subconsciously straightening her back.

“Good morning, Healer Malfoy,” she chirped.

“You look a _lot_ better. I told you,” Leonel said smugly, well past trying to impress Draco.

“Thank you, Healer Estrada,” Draco said, though a smile tugged at his lips. “I’m assuming you’ve gone to check in on Potter?”

“Of course,” said Leonel. “The entire hospital didn’t fall apart in the, what, five hours you’ve been gone?”

“We checked on him at seven and again an hour ago. He’s doing as well as can be expected,” Betty said, her lips quirking as she glanced sideways at Leonel. “His vitals are fine, considering, but he’s shaking terribly and he said he vomited a few times during the night. It’s all in his file.”

“We gave him a Nourishing Potion since he’s been vomiting so much,” added Leonel, now serious. “He’s dehydrated and isn’t maintaining any nutrients.”

Draco rubbed at his forehead. “Right, thanks. I’ll go see him.”

When Draco went to see him, Potter glared at Draco tiredly from his bed.

Whatever progress he had made in the past day was gone, it seemed – Potter looked nearly as bad as he did when he first came in. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat with heavy bags under his eyes, his hair greasy and unkempt. The ends of his hair curled and stuck to his cheeks. And then, as if to greet him, Potter promptly vomited into the bucket at the side of his bed.

Draco walked over and Vanished the contents wordlessly, averting his gaze and trying to remind himself that Potter had a right to hate him at this moment. He shuddered to think what it would be like if the tables were turned.

Potter wiped his mouth roughly with the back of his hand.

“Good morning, Potter,” Draco said, retrieving the file from where it hung on the end of his bed.

Looking it over, he saw that Betty had taken care to list all the symptoms Potter had been suffering, relieved that they were all byproducts of withdrawal.

“I bet you’re having a good laugh, aren’t you, Malfoy?” Potter goaded weakly as he lay back on his bed. He closed his eyes. “This must be bloody hilarious.”

“I assure you that it’s quite the opposite, Potter,” Draco replied, taking care to keep his tone professional and neutral. “You're my patient.”

“Christ, loosen up, will you? You’re like a bloody robot.”

Draco admittedly had a weak understanding of robots and chose to disregard this comment. Instead, he checked Potter’s vitals, ensuring that they were unchanged.

“How many times have you vomited since my colleagues were here to check on you?”

“Twice, I reckon,” Potter grumbled, opening his eyes to squint at Draco. “This is meant to be me healing, yeah?”

“Recovering, yes,” Draco said. “Withdrawal from these certain substances can lead to everything you’re feeling now. It will be difficult for the time being, but you’ll be the better for it later.”

“How much later?”

“Give or take a week. Now, I should add that these are only the physical symptoms. The emotional and mental effects withdrawal has will be cared outside of St. Mungo’s. We’ve got an extensive list of verified Mind-Healers who can tend to your needs.”

Potter gave a hollow laugh.

“Right, my _needs_.”

Draco pushed forward. “We’re very committed to helping you. You just have to let us.”

“Well, you only have a day left, so best of luck.”

Draco gritted his teeth, reminding himself that Potter was a patient, a _sick_ patient.

“I still recommend you stay longer to give you the best chances at a full recovery. It’s just _not_ possible if you leave tomorrow.”

He shrugged.

“Look, Potter,” Draco ground out, “I realize that this isn’t an optimal situation, what with me being me and you being you, but when it comes down to it, I am your _Healer_. It is my job to look after your health and to help you. There’s a reason I’m head of this ward, and there’s a reason I’ve been assigned to you. I have an extensive knowledge and grasp of potions and poisons, and –“

“Yeah, I’m sure nearly killing two people is great experience,” Potter interrupted, his voice harsh. “Has everyone else here poisoned innocent people too, or are you just special, Malfoy?”

Draco blanched, feeling cold wash over him. Potter watched him as he exhaled shakily.

“There’s no excuse for what I did,” he said lowly. “I live with the consequences of my actions every day, Potter, and I’ll never let myself forget it even if I could.”

“That sounds awful, Malfoy. Really. My heart aches for you.”

Draco cleared his throat and looked away. “I can talk to my superior and see that I have this case reassigned to Healer Estrada so there’s no conflict of interest.”

“There’s no need. I’ll be gone in a day.”

“No, you won’t,” Draco finally exploded, turning to glare at Potter. “I can’t release you in good faith. You have an _addiction_ , Potter, and you need help, and the only way you’re going to get it is if you stay here and _listen to me._ ”

Potter’s eyes widened slightly before he said in a tight voice, “Thought I was going to get a new Healer.”

Draco applauded himself on not ripping his hair out.

“Do you like being difficult? What do you get out of it? What could you _possibly_ gain from driving me mad?”

“Well for one, I wouldn’t have to look at your stupid pointy face anymore.”

“Great,” snapped Draco. “Lovely. I wasn’t aware that I was treating a five-year-old.”

They glared at each other for a few more minutes, the atmosphere in the room uncomfortably tense.

Finally, and with significant effort, Draco relaxed his shoulders and said in his best professional voice, “I think we’re set for now. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah. Leave me alone.”

* * *

 

Draco decided that he would appeal to Granger and Weasley first and see if they could convince Potter to stay longer. If that failed, he’d go to Scarlett.

He wrote a simple letter, professional and to the point, and gave it to one of the hospital’s owls.

“To Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, please.”

The owl fluttered its wings and took off through Draco’s window, leaving him to lean back in his chair and contemplate further.

Ten minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the door. Draco had barely said ‘come in’ before it flung open and Granger and Weasley rushed in.

“We got your letter,” Granger told him unnecessarily as she settled into a chair in front of Draco’s desk.

Weasley joined his fiancee in the chair beside hers, his face pale and leg bouncing up and down where he sat.

“Hey, Malfoy,” he said tensely.

“Hello, Weasley, Granger,” Draco said, and folded his hands. He sighed. “As you read, Potter is still refusing to listen to me. He’s still under the impression that he’ll be leaving tomorrow, and I’m certain I don’t need to tell you how terrible that idea is.”

Granger’s face was hard. “What can we do?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Draco admitted. “We’re a hospital, not a prison. We can’t force Potter to stay here, and as for you…you can’t force a person into recovery. We can try, and try we will, but ultimately, it’s up to Potter to make the decision – to decide that he wants to recover.

“And given Potter’s antagonism towards me,” Draco continued, glancing away, a frown on his face, “He’s even less likely to listen to me. So I’m hoping that you’ll try and convince him.”

Granger face was screwed up and Draco was afraid that she’d start screaming or crying or both – but then it smoothed out into something very neutral (Draco was admittedly impressed). Weasley put his arm around her shoulders, and spoke instead.

“He’s never listened to us before,” he said, his tone bitter. “We’ve been trying to help him for years, for all the good it’s done him. Why should this time be any different?”

“He made the decision to come here,” Draco answered, looking Weasley square in the eye. “On some level, he knew he needed help and he acted on it. We have to take advantage of that and – “

But then Leonel’s Patronus bounded in and said in his voice, “Come to Mr. Potter’s room immediately.”

Draco had already stood up and pocketed his wand in the time it took for Granger and Weasley to exchange panicked looks.

“Come on.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly getting happier with how this is coming along, though it still reeks of 2014.

“What – what are you doing here?”

Harry couldn’t breathe. In, out. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

“Hermione told me, Harry –“

“Stop,” he buried his head in his hands. In and out. God, his chest was so tight and he felt so ill and he _really_ didn’t want –

“Harry.”

“ _Stop_ ,” he yelled suddenly, and he heard – rather than saw – the window crack.

He looked up into Ginny Weasley’s shocked brown eyes and took in her pale face, her fiery hair, and her trembling body. He realized that he was trembling, too.

Harry curled his hands into his fists and looked away once more, not able to stomach how Ginny was staring at him, like she didn’t know him.

Yes, the window was cracked. Wasn’t he supposed to lose the ability to do wandless magic now that Voldemort was dead?

And then, just because he was so good at making Harry’s life even more annoying, Malfoy burst into the room, his robes billowing about dramatically. He was quickly followed by Hermione, Ron, and the American Healer – the handsome one.

Harry let out a shaky laugh as he turned to face them. “Sure, come on in. Why not?”

Hermione looked apologetic, Ron frustrated, Malfoy surprised, and the American Healer (what was his name?) simply stunned.

"Never mind them. Look, Harry," Ginny said suddenly, her eyes flashing dangerously as she stepped forward. Harry blinked; he’d momentarily forgotten that she’d been there at all. "You've got a problem. I've known it for a long fucking time and I hate that I didn't try and help you more. But there's no use dwelling on the past, so the only thing to do now is _fix it,_ and the only one who can do that is you. So you're not bloody leaving until you admit that you’re ill and you sort it the fuck out."

Harry felt like he'd been slapped; Ginny appearing so suddenly was shock enough without her speaking so bluntly at him. Though to be truthful, he's had a lot of that in the past.

The tension in the air was palpable, and Harry desperately wished that everyone else would leave. Instead, they remained and glanced nervously between Ginny, still standing her ground, and Harry, who would've liked it if he simply ceased to exist.

He wet his chapped lips and gulped tightly, trying to focus on Ginny's words instead of the mere fact that she'd said them. But what was he supposed to say? _Yes, Ginny, I'm ill and need help so I'll stay._

God, if only it was that simple.

He'd never been one to ask for help. All his life, he'd had to deal with nearly everything on his own. He'd spent the first decade of life virtually alone, having to fend for himself against the Dursleys. And then, of course, there was the small bit of news about how he, a teenager at most, had to fight against a mass murderer and his equally murderous cult. He'd become so accustomed to having to survive on his own that he’d never grown out of it.

He ground his teeth.

But some part of him knew that he _had_ come here – he had brought himself to St. Mungo’s. He knew that he was hanging on by a thread, and that his life had become dangerously pathetic (if he could even call it a life).

His gaze drifted from Ginny to Hermione and Ron. They’d never yelled at him, which was sort of shocking, thinking back on it. The only thing they ever did was look at him with some horrible mixture of pity and revulsion; they spoke gentle but stern words to him, as if he were a child who was prone to misbehaving.

“Come on, Harry,” Ginny said, her voice softer now but still firm, “You’re smarter than this. You’re _stronger_ than this.”

Maybe it was Ginny, maybe it was her bullshit words, maybe it was her yelling, or maybe it was his pounding headache. And it could have been a dozen other things but that didn’t really matter right now because he felt himself fall apart.

He felt horror and shock and disgust wash over him, like all his emotions had just been stuck behind some wall and the dam had suddenly broke and he was finally absorbing it all – the numbness was gone and in its place was all these emotions, painfully visceral and overwhelming. And now, finally, he realized just how much he’d fucked up, just how _abnormal_ he was.

“Oh God,” he said, and threw up into his bucket.

His empty stomach churning, he wiped his mouth and hung at the edge of his bed, unwilling to show his face to any of the five people in the room. His weak gasps of breath came ragged and irregular and his chest moved with them, his hands gripping the edge of the hospital bed as he stared into his vomit.

“Harry?”

He closed his eyes. In, out. It was easy, right?

Harry then felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and it reminded him so much of looking over Dumbledore’s dead body and _Christ_ he wanted to be numb again. He didn’t have the energy to revisit old memories; that was the point of all the potions and alcohol in the first place – to forget them.

There was a dip in the bed as Ginny sat down, her hand still on Harry’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her – let alone this closely. She was beautiful as ever, though she already looked older and more mature. She wasn’t a teenage girl fighting for her life anymore; she was a woman, courageous and funny and kind and strong. Her brown eyes were sad as they studied Harry’s face. He suddenly felt conscious of how poorly he must have looked.

“Harry,” she nearly whispered. She put a hand to his clammy cheek. “It’s all right.”

And then he was weeping.

He nearly dived into Ginny, who wrapped her arms around him without hesitation. He clung to her warm body and sobbed like he’d never done before, the tears flowing freely for the first time in ages. And Ginny held onto him like she’d never let him go.

He felt so weak. He was weak and exhausted, and the taste of vomit was bitter in his mouth.

Ginny rubbed small circles into Harry’s back as he cried and shuddered against her.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he tried to say, but he’s not sure she understood.

Ginny shushed him and continued to stroke his back.

Belatedly, he recognized the sound of a door opening and closing and realized that they were the only ones left in the room. Ginny noticed his head turn towards the door and confirmed his suspicions by saying, “They’ve left.”

“Right.”

He swallowed thickly and took off his glasses to wipe away the moisture from his face, feeling like an overlarge toddler. He let go of Ginny and sat up straight, finding it difficult to look her in the eyes.

She smiled sadly and squeezed his thigh.

“I’m –“ he began to apologize, but she shook her head.

“You don’t need to say you’re sorry, Harry,” Ginny said firmly but not unkindly. “You needed to let it all out at one point.”

“I reckon there’s more to let out,” he laughed weakly. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and said, “Fuck...how did this even happen?"

"The war's affected all of us, Harry."

"You lot are living relatively normal lives," Harry said incredulously. "I mean, as far as I know, you've got careers and family and partners –“

"We _are_ your family," Ginny said, and sounded slightly hurt. "Even if, y'know, we didn't get married like Mum wanted us to."

"I know," he bit his lip, remembering Mrs. Weasley's disappointment when he and Ginny broke up. He'd only just started getting bad then. "But it's not the same. Like, proper family."

"Of course," Ginny said, a frown on her face. "But we're still here for you. You're stuck with us. For life."

She hadn't cried yet, but her voice sounded unusually thick. She blinked and looked away.

"I'm sorry," Harry said after a few moments of silence. "I just - I don't know how it got this far. None of this feels real. I've almost...forgotten..."

His words, though unsaid, hung in the air.

Ginny gave a sharp little intake of breath.

"How long has it been?"

"I don't...not since the last time Hermione and Ron tried to get me to stop. I only made it a few days..."

"Not since March?" she asked, her voice thin.

Had it really been that long? It felt like it was just yesterday.

He shrugged. "I s'pose."

Ginny took a deep breath. "You're getting help, Harry. You'll get through this, and we'll be here every step of the way."

"What about the Harpies?"

"It's off-season."

"And...Zabini?"

"He's still in New Zealand, but he'll join me as soon as he can," she said with a hint of defensiveness. She shifted, then added, "What, are you going to give me shit for it again?"

"I never – “

She glared disbelievingly.

"I mean, a bit, but you can't say it wasn't surprising."

"He's actually very decent," Ginny said, a delicate flush crossing her face, "And I happen to like him quite a lot. Just because you never got to know him-"

"Literally when have I ever-"

"You were in the same bloody year. And in Slug Club."

"Christ, don't remind me of that," Harry mumbled.

"Point is, he's a decent bloke and if you got to know him-“

“I was a bit busy being a junkie, remember?” Harry joked darkly, and regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Ginny’s face fell.

“Sorry – that was – er –”

Ginny shook her head, her expression dark, and said, “Maybe we should ask Malfoy if joking about it is a good sign.”

“What, you don’t call him ‘Draco,’ too?” Harry scowled, the thought of Malfoy just making his mood worse. “God, what a prat, still strutting about like he’s the best thing on earth, that ponce.”

“Harry…

“What, I’m bent too, aren’t I?”

“Still.”

He sighed and lay down on the bed, rubbing his forehead. The headache was coming back and he was feeling a bit drained – maybe realizing that you’ve fucked your life up did that to you.

Ginny seemed to understand, patting his thigh once more before standing and refilling his glass with a silent _Aguamenti_.

“Thanks, Ginny.”

“Of course, Harry,” she said, smiling softly down at him. “I’ll make sure to keep the masses at bay for a while, all right?”

Harry let out a weak chuckle. “Thank you.”

She nodded and walked to the door. Her hand on the knob, she stopped and turned to look back at him.

“I love you, Harry. We all do,” Ginny said quietly, and exited the room.

* * *

 

After lunch came, Harry decided to take a shower. He figured if his insides were getting clean, his body might as well be rid of dirt too. The mirror tutted at him, and he turned away from his own reflection with a scowl.

He stripped slowly, his aching body resisting standing when he’d been lying for so long. He set his glasses on the sink and turned on the water, getting in only when it was steaming.

God, it actually felt good. The scalding water beat down on his skin, soothing his tense muscles and washing away the sweat and dirt that had accumulated in the past…several days? Week?

He scrubbed his skin raw with the provided soap, putting it out of his mind. He was showering now – that was what counted.

Harry then decided to tackle his hair, which felt greasy and matted underneath his fingers. He shampooed vigorously, and did it once more for good measure before conditioning. He rinsed off thoroughly, running water over his face and lathering it with soap. His fingers ran over his beard – he had to call it that at this point, it’d been a minute since he’d shaved. But he found that he rather liked it, and decided he wouldn’t be shaving it off. He didn’t feel such like a child anymore, and it certainly made himself appear more rugged. He certainly wasn’t so clean-cut anymore.

He shut off the water and exited the shower, toweling off. He indulged in glancing at his reflection. He looked loads better. The shower couldn’t fix the dead look in his eyes or his shrunken appearance, but at least he didn’t feel so filthy.

“There you go, boy, now get dressed,” said the mirror unnecessarily.

Harry pulled on the hospital gown again with a scowl, feeling ridiculous. Madam Pomphrey never made him wear such foolish clothing, and he hadn’t made a trip to St. Mungo’s since his Auror days.

He screwed his eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. He wanted a drink, or better yet, a potion.

“Fuck.”

It really wouldn’t be that hard to escape, Harry reasoned. Even without his wand, he could chance sneaking out. Yeah, he’d look mental with only the hospital gown and no shoes, but it was possible.

“You’re already mental anyway and it’d be easy,” Harry told himself, retrieving his glasses and shoving them on his face. He glared at himself. “But you shouldn’t. You’d disappoint everyone. Again.”

“I’m glad you know you’re mental already,” said the mirror. “I didn’t want to be the one to break it to you.”

He exited the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

* * *

 

An hour later there was a knock.

It was Ginny again.

“Hey, Harry,” she greeted softly, poking her head in. “How are you feeling?”

“Like rubbish,” he answered truthfully.

“You took a shower,” Ginny commented, a small smile on her face.

“Yeah.” He sat himself up and asked her, “What is it?”

“Hermione and Ron were wondering if they could see you.”

He was both surprised and unsurprised to know that they wanted his permission, and from Ginny, no less. He was strangely touched but a bit hurt that they felt they couldn’t just talk to him.

“Yeah, of course.”

She nodded and withdrew herself from the crack in the door. A few seconds later, she opened it so his two closest friends could come inside, their faces strained and worried.

“I’ll be outside, all right?” Ginny said, and left.

Hermione looked at Harry with something like pain on her face. Ron’s arms were dangling by his sides, as if he were unsure of what to do with them.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said when he couldn’t bear the silence anymore. “I’m so sorry.”

Hermione flew over to the bed and hugged him tightly, her bushy hair in his face. He was suddenly glad that he’d showered.

“I’m going…I’m going to get better. I really will, this time,” he said, his throat tight as he hugged Hermione back, who was now half on the bed herself. “I swear.”

Ron came over, his arms now crossed, and he frowned at the two of them. “Yeah, you will.”

Harry nodded as Hermione released him and wiped her eyes. She stayed sat on the bed as Ron swept her hair away from her tear-streaked face.

“I’ll try,” Harry amended. “I’ll stay here as long as Malfoy wants, as long as you want. I don’t – I can’t do this anymore.”

Fresh tears leaked out of Hermione’s eyes, and Ron put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“We’re here for you, mate,” he said.

“I know,” Harry replied, his voice embarrassingly weak.

“I’m so glad you’re staying,” Hermione said, her voice wobbly. She made no move to wipe the new tears away, instead staring at Harry with a deep sadness in her eyes. A sharp pain coursed through him; he’d done this to her. “This is the right thing to do.”

“Yeah,” he managed to say despite the lump in his throat. Wanting to move the conversation along, he asked, “You told Ginny?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione answered, finally wiping her tears away. “She has a right to know that you’re in hospital, and I figured she might be able to convince you…”

“Well, you were right,” Harry grumbled.

“You’re very important to her, Harry,” said Hermione, frowning now. “She’ll always care about your well-being.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “I just – I dunno, would’ve liked a warning before barging in here.”

Hermione sighed. “I didn’t think she’d be able to come so early, with both her and Blaise so busy –“

Harry’s face must have darkened, because Hermione asked tiredly, “What is it, Harry?”

“I just still can’t believe you’re all so chummy with the Slytherins.”

“It’s been years, Harry,” Hermione said sadly. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. Blaise is perfectly fine, he’s clever and makes Ginny happy –“

“Cos I didn’t, right?”

Her eyes turned hard. “I didn’t say that.”

Ron placed a comforting arm around Hermione’s shoulders and shot Harry a look.

“No, you didn’t,” Harry shrunk back, not looking for a fight, “But you’re even mates with Malfoy now. _Malfoy_.”

Ron shrugged. “He’s all right.”

Harry goggled at him.

“He’s still a prat,” Ron said defensively, “But he’s not that bad. And it’s not like we went out looking for him, he just came along with Ginny and Blaise one day and we happened to get on…”

“What, just like that?”

“It took a few drinks – I mean, a while, but yeah,” Ron said, stumbling over his words.

“You can mention alcohol around me, Ron,” Harry mumbled. “It’s not like I forget about it when you’re talking about other things.”

Ron looked away, while Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed.

“How bad is it, Harry?” she asked softly.

“I want to drink,” Harry said simply. “Potions, alcohol, whatever. I want it.”

Hermione took hold of Harry’s hand and looked him in the eye. “You’ll get through this. We’ll be here no matter what and help you however you want us to.”

Harry nodded, unable to break eye contact even though he wanted to. He didn’t deserve friends like them. He wanted to say something to them – everything he’d said so far was inadequate – and he opened his mouth only to shut it again. _Sorry I’m a fuck-up? Sorry I’ve gone and bollixed up my entire life? Sorry I’ve hardly been in your lives the past few years years?_ It was all inadequate.

The three of them sat in silence for a several minutes; a knock at the door made them all jump.

Ginny came in, her face apologetic.

“Sorry, this a bad time?” she asked.

“No, come in,” Harry offered, and she did.

“Draco’s wanting to talk to you,” Ginny explained.

Harry sighed. “Why not?”

She gave him a sympathetic look before stepping out to presumably call him over. The prat came in a few seconds later, looking self-important as he unshrunk the notes that he kept in his pocket. He glanced up, his eyes widening a bit as they caught sight of Hermione and Ron.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were still in here. I apologize.”

“It’s fine, Draco,” Hermione said, standing up from Harry’s bed. “Should we leave?”

“You certainly don’t have to, it’s up to…” he trailed off, his eyes shifting over to Harry.

Harry shrugged. “They’ll know everything anyway.”

Hermione bit her lip, relief on her face, and Ron grinned slightly.

“All right,” Malfoy said. “Well, Potter, am I correct in saying that you’ve changed your mind since our last conversation?”

Harry scowled and didn’t miss the inquisitive glances from his friends.  

“Yeah, I’m staying,” he said. “You won.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. “I’m pleased you’ve decided to stay,” he said with effort. “I really believe you’ll benefit from giving a full recovery a chance. I’ll go ahead and contact the Mind-Healers and see if any of them will be able to take you on. Don’t worry – I’ll be discreet.”

Harry laid back down, relaxing at Malfoy’s reassurance but still unhappy with the situation. The last thing he’d need right now was for Rita bloody Skeeter to catch wind of this whole thing.

“Fine. Great.”

“And how are you feeling now? Any changes in symptoms?”

“Like rubbish, and not that I know of,” Harry said shortly.

Malfoy scribbled something into his notes.

“Have you been able to keep your food down?”

Harry nodded. “Lunch is still fine.”

“I’ll have someone bring you a nourishment potion, just in case,” Malfoy said, nodding to himself. He looked up, tucking his parchment underneath his left arm and withdrawing his wand. “I’m just going to check vitals.”

He did so, and the four of them looked at the floating numbers in interest. Harry thought it was a rather silly method; he knew Muggles had equipment that’d keep the numbers up instead of floating away into nothingness.

Malfoy nodded to himself again, not revealing any of the numbers’ meanings to the others, and began to scribble away.

“So? How is it?”

When Malfoy gave him a look, Harry continued. “What? I’ve got a right to know if I’m dying or not, don’t I?”

“There’s no need to be so melodramatic, Potter, you’re not going to _die_ ,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. Harry wondered if he was this much of a prat to all of his patients. “Your vitals are still stable, and your body is nearly rid of all the foreign bodies. Of course, we’ll be administering a very weak Calming Potion to you tonight; it’ll ease your body and mind, and hopefully help you to sleep. You _have_ been having trouble sleeping, haven’t you?”

Harry nodded, flustered. He hadn’t mentioned that.

“Insomnia is another common symptom of substance withdrawal,” Malfoy explained. “You have to tell me everything, Potter. Every little thing may count.”

“I don’t sleep without help, anyway,” Harry mumbled defensively. “Seemed pretty normal.”

Malfoy wrote something down again.

“These will all be things to discuss with your Mind-Healer,” he said, without looking up.

“Can’t wait.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi SO sorry for how long it's been. Life is still full of chaotic events - imagine that.

Draco left Potter’s room, his mind now focused on finding a Mind Healer for Potter. They weren't in short supply after the war, what with the trauma and all. Draco had gone to one himself, mostly at his mother's and Pansy's insistence. He frowned at the thought of Pansy.

The two of them had drifted off after the war and trials; Draco choosing to return to Hogwarts and work on becoming a Healer, while Pansy left for Spain to escape. They still wrote, however, and became each other’s confidants. With his father in Azkaban and his mother cooped up in the Manor, it was up to Draco to repair the image of the Malfoy name, if such a thing were even possible.

He found calm in potions; it was methodical and demanded his undivided attention, forcing him to leave his thoughts for a while. He excelled and did well on his NEWTS, and worked his way up from the bottom of St. Mungo’s. It had been difficult at first – his name on its own was enough to make coworkers and superiors recoil.

Yes, a former Death Eater now trying to save lives for a living. He saw the irony. And still, he worked without reservation, determined to show everyone that he'd changed - he was a Healer, and a damn good one too.

Slowly, management began to realize that, and he began his slow climb to where he was now. He was incredibly busy and barely got time off, but that was the way he liked it. It took his mind off all the other less pleasant things.

* * *

 

It wasn't with great difficulty that Draco chose to contact his former Mind Healer. Draco quite liked her, and he had to admit that she'd helped him a bit. (Of course, he was by no means "fixed," but it was still a vast improvement). She was patient, compassionate, but was never patronizing. And most importantly, she held patient confidentiality in highest regard and didn't give a rat’s arse who you were. If you needed help, she was there to give it.

When Draco had first walked into her office and given her his name, she barely blinked before asking him kindly if he’d like some tea or coffee. Of course, this may have been because she wasn’t British and hadn’t been in the country during the war, but something told Draco that even if she had been, she wouldn’t really care all that much.

He felt confident that she would treat Potter like just another client and respect his privacy.

Draco knelt onto his office floor and tossed some Floo powder into the small fireplace.

"Healer Julia Wolff's office."

Draco stuck his head into the green flames, and he was met with Wolff's sensible heels. She stooped gracefully to his level somehow, and smiled at him.

"Draco. To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, a slight German accent punctuating her words.

"Purely business, I'm afraid. I was wondering if you'd be willing to take on a new client."

"Of course. What sort of thing is he looking for?"

"Would you mind if I came through, actually? It'll need a bit of explaining."

"Come in." She waved him in and stood up, disappearing rom sight.

A few seconds later, Draco was brushing himself off in Wolff's beige office. Julia Wolff sat at her desk, a calm, welcoming expression on her distinctly Germanic face. She smiled at Draco.

"Please sit down. Would you like some tea? Coffee, perhaps?"

Draco was about to decline, and then he remembered how tired he was.

"Tea, if it isn't too much trouble,” he said as he sat down across from her.

Wolff waved her wand and a kettle set about heating up some water.

"So," Wolff said, folding her hands in front of her, "Who is this client?"

"You must first understand that confidentiality is absolutely essential for this individual," Draco began, a slight frown on his face. He paused as the kettle poured tea into the teacup in front of him. He spooned a few cubes of sugar and stirred. "Thank you. As I was saying, he’s just very recently accepted help, so he’s still quite skittish. I believe his greatest concern is his privacy."

"You know I take patient confidentiality seriously."

Draco bowed his head. "Of course.”

"Very well, I understand,” she frowned slightly. “Who is this client, and how did he come into your care?"

"He was found overdosed on a combination of potions and alcohol - he's been stabilized since, but he needs guidance. I know you have experience with addicts…and of course, war trauma."

Wolff's caramel eyes softened. "Yes, unfortunately."

"The patient is Harry Potter."

It was a mark of how famous the man was when Wolff's eyes widened.

"I see," she said quietly after a moment.

Draco reached into his pocket and withdrew Potters shrunken files, returning them to their original size and sliding them over to Wolff. She opened the files and looked over them with interest, the light crow’s feet around her eyes crinkling.

"Yes, of course I can take him," she said after she had finished, and closed the files and returned them to Draco. "Pass along my contact details to him and we will arrange an appointment whenever you deem appropriate. I’d also like a copy of your institution’s files, whenever it is convenient."

Draco nodded and finished the rest of his tea. "Thank you, Healer Wolff."

"It is no problem," she said and cocked her head. "And how are you, Draco? Are you doing well?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Are you remembering work-life balance?"

"Yes," Draco said, trying not to roll his eyes.

She didn't look convinced but waved him away. "I'll speak with you soon, Draco. If you’d ever like to make an appointment –"

“Yes, of course,” he cut over her quickly, suddenly wanting to leave Wolff’s office. “Thank you, Healer Wolff.”

Wolff frowned a bit before bidding him goodbye.

* * *

 

Leonel was in Draco’s office when he stepped through.

“Oh!” Leonel exclaimed, stepping closer to Draco as the latter brushed himself off. “Sorry. I was just looking for you.”

“Is something the matter?” Draco asked, still a bit shaken from seeing Wolff.

It’d been over a year since he’d had an appointment with Wolff but talking to her still left Draco rattled. He’d been in a disastrous state at the start of his therapy, and that was what came to mind whenever he set foot in Wolff’s office, despite first seeing her two and a half years ago.

“No, I just had a question about…” Leonel trailed off, frowning at the look on Draco’s face. “Are you ok?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t look so good.” His dark eyes were compassionate, his tone suddenly softer, and Draco was once again reminded why Leonel made such a good Healer. “You can still talk to me, Draco.”

Hearing Leonel say his name in such a gentle tone sent a chill up Draco’s spine. He gulped audibly, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Memories of them fucking on the very same desk that was in the room flashed through Draco’s mind. Something told him that Leonel was also reminiscing on similar events.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, his throat tight. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Something about Leonel’s eyes urged him to continue.

“I just got back from talking to Julia.”

Leonel understood immediately; cautiously, he asked, “For an appointment?”

“No!” Draco said defensively, though he had no reason to feel embarrassed. He was seeing Wolff when he and Leonel were dating, anyway. “I asked if she would agree to see Potter.”

“Oh,” Leonel said, visibly relaxing. “Then what’s the matter?”

“Being in her office reminds me of when I was still…seeing her,” Draco admitted. He doesn’t think he’s ever told someone that before. “It’s ridiculous, but –“

“It’s not, Draco,” Leonel interrupted. “It makes total sense that being there brings back painful memories.”

Draco was secretly grateful for his words but only scoffed in response. “I don’t need you to counsel me, Leo. I’ve already had enough of that.”

Leonel smiled a bit. “Yeah, of course. My bad.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment. It was times like these when Draco wondered why they broke up in the first place, but it only took a few minutes to remember the reasons. They were infinitely better as friends and colleagues; their overwhelming passion burned them out so quickly that they grew bored of each other just as fast.

“Anyway, sorry, what was it that you wanted to ask me?” Draco asked, breaking himself out of his reverie.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Leonel said, a slight smile on his face. “See you later, Healer.”

And with that, Leonel left Draco’s office, leaving him with only his thoughts.

* * *

 

An hour later found Draco sorting through all of his notes on Potter, compiling them into one condensed document for Healer Wolff. He had a hospital owl fly it over to her in a neat package stamped “CONFIDENTIAL.”

Draco then fished through the bottom drawer of his desk for one of Healer Wolff’s business cards – simple little things with a framed Wolff smiling solemnly on them. He held it in his hands, frowning down at the black-and-white Wolff.

Should he give it to Potter now? Or should he wait until tomorrow? Draco checked his watch. It was already six. Would it be better to leave Potter to rest for the night? He knew he didn’t exactly aid in letting Potter relax and heal – quite the opposite, really. But on the other hand, he wanted to give Potter Wolff’s contact details as soon as possible on the chance that Potter would change his mind about treatment again.

Realistically, Draco didn’t have to see Potter until tomorrow. He had made his rounds earlier in the day and checked on all of his other patients then. But perhaps he _should_ check on Potter again. He _did_ say he wanted Potter to have another nourishment potion.

Draco squirmed at the thought that he was focusing so much energy on one patient; he was a Healer, for Salazar’s sake. A patient is a patient, and patients should be treated equally.

Harry Potter. Even after eight years, it all comes back to him. Draco didn’t even know why he spent so much time and energy on the prat. It’s not like he was even thankful, or _nice_ … _which is not the point_ , Draco reminded himself. _You’re a Healer_. _Thanks or no thanks, you help people._ _That’s what you do_.

Draco sighed. Potter always did have a penchant for driving him mad.

He put the business card on his desk and set about Flooing home. He’d do it tomorrow. He sent a Patronus to Betty asking her to administer the nourishment potion to Potter and left.

* * *

 

Draco returned to St. Mungo’s the next morning refreshed. He left behind his mixed feelings toward Leonel and his frustrations toward Potter at work and in the past. This was a new day, and it was bound to bring new problems.

He made his way to the employee lounge, predictably finding Betty, but surprisingly Ira as well. The two of them were sat on the couch, apparently engrossed in conversation.

“Good morning,” Draco greeted, making his presence known.

“Good morning, Draco,” said Ira, smiling up at him. “We were just talking about you and Leonel.”

“I – what?” Draco stammered, completely caught off guard. “Why?”

Betty flushed furiously, glaring daggers at Ira and deftly ignoring Draco.

“Oh, come on,” Ira rolled their eyes. “We _all_ know that you two dating was the most exciting thing to happen to St. Mungo’s staff. Most likely in the entire history of this fine establishment.”

“That’s ridiculous, but the more pressing question is why talk about it now? We’ve been split for ages.” Draco crossed his arms, feeling supremely uncomfortable. For a horrible moment, he thought that Ira and Betty had somehow found out about what happened yesterday – that confusing moment.

“I know, Draco,” Ira replied. “No need to kick up a fuss. We were just recounting all the times either one of us had walked in on you two –“

“Shut up,” Draco hissed, anger and embarrassment boiling up within him. “You know I’m not above using hexes on you.”

“I’m sorry, Healer Malfoy,” Betty said quietly, still not meeting his eyes.

“You adore us, Draco,” Ira added.

“’Adore’ might be too strong a word, White,” Draco seethed. He turned to Betty, who seemed even smaller than usual. “Betty, I just wanted to ask if you gave Potter that nourishment potion.”

“I did, Healer,” she replied quickly. “He was doing fine when I saw him.”

“Good,” said Draco stiffly. “And what about Jones?”

“She remained stable throughout the night,” Betty answered.

“Fantastic. And what are you still doing here? It’s six-thirty already.”

“I know,” Betty nodded. “I was just getting my things when Healer White and I started talking…”

She flushed a bright pink, the color obvious against her pale skin.

“Go home, Betty. You’ve done well,” Draco sighed. “And Ira, piss off.”

* * *

 

By eleven, Draco had checked up on his patients, had a few frank talks, been told off twice, and released one person. There was only one more thing to check off on his immediate agenda: talk to Potter.

He steeled himself outside of Potter’s door. He was still unsure of how to act around him; Potter was like a stranger to him now. He’d always sort of been one, but he was much easier to read when he was a teenager. Now that he was coming off potions and alcohol, the withdrawals were making him irritable, unstable, and moody.

In all the years they had gone to school together, Draco couldn’t remember a time he had ever seen Potter cry. It was disarming to say the least; even now with Potter looking so defeated and weak, he was still undoubtedly the wizard who’d saved them all. But now, Draco had seen him break down, clutching onto Ginevra Weasley like his life depended on it.

Most of the patients coming in through Draco’s department were fairly straightforward; addiction was a completely different matter.

Even worse, the patient in question was the same person Draco had fancied in his formative years.

Just admitting it in his head was difficult. He’d tried to repress many memories of Hogwarts, several of them having to do with Potter and Draco’s pathetic obsession with him. He was doing a fine job of it until just a few days ago.

Draco knocked on the door with a bit too much force.

A moment later, Ginevra poked her head out the door.

“Yes?”

“Is now a good time?”

She stuck her head back in, and Draco heard her talk briefly with Potter. Ginevra reemerged and opened the door wide, allowing Draco access and her to leave.

“Bye, Harry.”

Draco walked inside, forcing his face to be as impassive as possible. Potter stared at Draco with the same defiant look he had given him when Draco had first walked into his hospital room, daring him to say something.

“Potter, how are you doing?” Draco asked, his voice perfectly professional, though he could tell his forehead was probably pinched.

He busied himself by pulling out Potter’s file and reviewing it.

“Not that great, Malfoy,” Potter said evenly.

Draco looked up. “Has there been a change in your symptoms?”

Potter shook his head.

“Good,” Draco murmured. “I’d like to check your vitals.”

“All right.”

Draco proceeded to do so and wrote down his findings, pleased to see that Potter was steadily improving.

“How’s it looking, Healer?” Potter asked, his voice dripping with sarcastic respect and interest.

“Better,” Draco said, meeting Potter’s angry eyes. “I’m satisfied with how you’re progressing.”

“Great.”

Draco paused, continuing to stare neutrally at Potter. He felt disgusting for even thinking it, but Potter was still attractive at his worst. The eyes were the same – bright green and intense. His hair was longer, and now that it was washed, Draco could see that it was starting to curl towards the ends. And the facial hair…suffice to say, it suited him.

He cursed inwardly to himself. So this is what dredging up old memories did; it made Draco want to do the unspeakable. _Potter was a patient_.

“Anyway,” Draco said abruptly, “I wanted to talk to you about finding you a Mind-Healer. Healer Julia Wolff is accomplished and well-versed with the War and how it’s affected people, and I thought that you could benefit from her practice. I’ve brought her card with me…here.”

Draco handed it to Potter, who took it hesitantly. He looked at the card, his expression unreadable, before glancing back up at Draco.

“You really think she can help me?” Potter asked, his harsh tone of voice gone.

“Yes,” Draco answered. “Like I said, she has lots of experience and is one of the best in the field. I’ve already spoken to her and she’d be happy to have you as a patient. And of course, patient confidentiality is her highest priority, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“But can she _help_ me?”

Potter’s eyes were almost pleading. His fist was clenched around the card, which was now surely crumpled. He was sitting up, leaning forward and towards Draco. He thought about Potter’s breakdown yesterday. Draco felt a twinge of pain in his chest.

“She’s compassionate, intelligent, and genuinely wants the best for her patients,” Draco said. “But you have to put in effort too. You can’t go in and expect to be cured instantly. You’ve got to give as good as you get, Potter, you must understand.”

Potter slumped against the bed and whispered so lowly that Draco had to work to understand him.        

“I don’t know what I’ll do if I fuck up again.”

Draco’s chest was cold and tight; what was he supposed to say? He wasn’t a Mind-Healer. He wasn’t even a kind person. He didn’t know how to comfort people at this emotional level. Feeling panicked, he said the first thing that came to mind.

“She helped me,” he said.

Potter looked up, surprise in his face.

“I saw her…after the War. And she helped me,” Draco rambled. “I’m functioning now. Perhaps I’m still not a ‘normal’ person, but I can do normal things. As you can obviously tell. But I think…if you go to every appointment and listen to her and take her advice, she can really help you.”

Potter was staring at him again, hard, but it wasn’t angry like the last time. No, now they were wide, full of wonder perhaps. Draco shifted nervously, dropping his gaze to his files and staring blankly at them. What on earth possessed him to say all that? He really hoped he wasn’t crossing any Healer/patient barriers by telling that to Potter, but he didn’t think he did. Not any _real_ ones, anyway. He’d check the employee handbook later.

Gathering his waning courage, Draco met Potter’s gaze again.

“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” he said quickly. “I apologize for my inappropriate conduct. So if there’s anything else I can do for you…?”

Potter shook his head.

“Brilliant,” Draco said, relieved. “I’ll be taking my leave, then.”

And he did.

* * *

 

As soon as he had shut the door, he was ambushed by Granger and Weasley.

Draco gave an audible gasp and stepped back, his free hand coming to his chest. Weasley stifled a laugh (badly).

“Oh, sorry, Draco! We didn’t mean to startle you,” Granger said apologetically, offering a kind smile. “We were just waiting to talk to Harry.”

“Yes, of course,” Draco replied, his heart still pounding. There was _much_ too much happening right now. “He’s all yours. Good day.”

He was already walking away when Granger called out, “Wait!”

Draco turned at her voice.

She caught up to him a few paces, Weasley behind her.

“Since Ginny is in town, we were thinking of going out tonight,” Granger explained. “You know, to let off some steam. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh.” Draco blinked. “Without Blaise?”

“He got back to London this morning. Just for a day or two,” Granger said. “They’re at Molly’s and Arthur’s.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at Weasley, who gave a slight shrug.

“Come on,” Weasley then said. “You deserve a break as much as anyone. You’re wound up tighter than…I dunno. You might be wound tighter than anyone I know. And I’m engaged to this one.”

He nudged Granger with his shoulder, and the former gasped in offense.

“Fine, yes, as long as Blaise comes.”

“Good,” beamed Granger. “I’ll let Ginny know. We’re planning on eight at the Dotted Lamb.”

“I’ll see you then.”

* * *

 

Draco Apparated outside of the Dotted Lamb at 7:58. He was out of those lime green robes, thank Salazar, and was wearing a set of plain, black robes instead. Old habits die hard, after all.

Blaise and Ginevra appeared just a second later, and the three of them congregated in a small circle.

“It’s good to see you, Blaise,” Draco said warmly. “How’s New Zealand?”

“Oh, business as usual,” Blaise said in that silken voice of his. “But there’s far too much greenery, if you ask me.”

“I’ll never get used to how you Slytherins interact,” Ginevra piped up, her arm clutching onto Blaise’s. “It’s so…cold.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows down at her. “How should we behave, then, love?”

“You could hug at the very least,” Ginevra responded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“ _Hugging_ ,” Blaise said, as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth, “Is reserved for significant others. Perhaps a family member, on special occasion. No, I take it back. Just you.”

Ginevra’s face turned a bit pink, and Draco restrained the urge to roll his eyes. He’d need quite a few drinks in him if he was going to survive being fifth wheel the whole night.

Granger and Weasley took that moment to _crack_ into existence. The former rushed forward and enveloped Ginny in a large hug, her bushy hair restrained slightly in a tight ponytail. Weasley gave her a one-armed hug as well, saying “Hey, Ginny.”

Ginevra beamed up at Draco and Blaise mid-hugs, as if to say ‘See?’

“Let’s go inside,” said Blaise in response.

“Gladly,” Draco responded, moving to open the door.

He knew he was in for a long night.


End file.
